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We have a couple of people coming over tonight, to hang out. Karen asked if I wanted to feed them. "Well," I said, "not dinner - but we've got those samosas from the farmers' market, and that watermelon from the farmshare, and..."

So: come for snacks, we said.

Obviously, I've been thinking all day about what I can actually feed them. I'm going through the fridge shelf by shelf, throwing out what's bad and categorising what's not: and I think we can offer samosas and pickle and crudites and garlic dip and watermelon and olives and cheeses and crackers and smoked chicken and salad and cold chicken and fried potatoes and the fresh bread that I'm baking as we speak, and if anyone's still hungry I could make peach and apricot cobbler with fresh cream for dessert.

I think that'll do?

In not utterly unrelated news, I'm thinking about writing a blog series for Book View Cafe, about my transplanted culinary adventures: a British cook in US exile, what travels and what doesn't, how tastes and ingredients and methods differ, that sort of thing. If I do it, if it works, I could patchwork it together as an e-book. It'd need a title, though. Ideas, comments, brickbats all gratefully received (except the latter, perhaps: except that I'm not really sure what a brickbat is. Is it related to a halfbrick?).
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desperance

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